Feline Warrior

My nephew who only knows how to love unconditionally: Miles.

He sent me the sweetest get-well e-card via his mama, mi amiga La Gordita. It’s good to be loved!

* The pain meds were still cookin’ away… you may have noticed the misspelling in my previous title!

So this is what they did to me. That’s not the place (woulda been one heck of a drive), but it explains it pretty well. Oh, and mine was the first one listed. Hence the vicodin and buying all the soft food earlier this week. As it turns out, though, the only thing I really want is chocolate ice cream.

The mashed potatoes -usually a big hit with me- taste like a dishrag (also a peppered dishrag and a peppered dishrag sprinkled with shredded mozzarella cheese, depending on how I’ve tried to repair it). I think it’s the “band-aid” thing they put on my gums while it all heals. Oh, and for the record- they did the upper left AND upper right sides. Inside and outside (”tongue side” and “cheek side”). Hence my pain and the reason for the pain meds.

So while I feel like I’m really really hungry (and I probably am!) there’s not much to eat. I can only have so much chocolate ice cream. Can’t chew. Not into tossing a steak into the blender. (But people do - can you imagine?!) Maybe I can drop a few mushy pounds this week. Hey! Weight loss through surgery - the next big thing!

I know that you don’t come here to read about my boring personal stuff (what I ate, what it tasted like and so on) but sometime next year, I might have an insight about it and think -lucky you!- you’ll already know about it! Yay! Usually I provide strange personal stuff, recollections, memories via music, aroma, or satellite. But this is what I have today. I’m all wounded, what do you want? Hmm?

Maybe I’ll write later while under a vicodin spell. Yeehaw!

I alluded, perhaps, to the busy-ness of my recent work life. Madness, I say! Things have calmed down some, I’m breathing once again and voice mail once again receives my full attention while it’s still fairly fresh.

So then, there I was, innocently minding my own business, when -in the middle of normal messages- came a vaguely familiar voice asking me to call a vaguely familiar named person. I wish I hadn’t waited until this late hour to tell you about this, because frankly, I’m tired and not in the mood for it.

Suffice it to say: Long, long ago. Much alcohol. Gallons, possibly. A supremely embarrassing situation. This, in my youth, practically. Too young to know better, but not really.

Anyway, a person involved in this situation was intentionally dismissed from my life long ago. Long ago as in directly following the incident noted above. It wasn’t just the embarrassing nature of the whole thing, but that the person seemed to believe that there could be a pattern and that perhaps be involved in that pattern. (Oh, so vague and yet the lines are not so blurry.) I have ignored various messages over the years, although truly it has been a solid decade since I’ve heard from this person - maybe longer.

But there it was: the voice, the name, that old smile in the voice that I read as that same old expectation. I am so not interested. Not interested in catching up, laughing about old times, none of it. Not at all.

But it’s distressing to me, in a way, too - my life has been colorful and interesting and certainly full. I don’t regret much at all. Instead, I’ve chosen to learn from situations and people and move on as best I can. Still, that haunting of the past is so peculiar. Sometimes, though, a memory is like a shovel: it can dig down deep, mess up the surface and bust up roots. It’s up to us, I suppose, to determine who is holding the shovel - a gravedigger or a kid in a sandbox. I’m going with sandbox today.

Oh, and just for kicks and giggles, I’m having surgery on my gums tomorrow. I’ve had this before, this surgery (but not as extensively) and it was by far the most pain I’ve ever experienced in my life. EVER. If you are prone to gum issues, obey your dentist completely!

Off to take my surgery-eve valium…

Sounds like the title of an Elliott Smith song, eh? Maybe it is and I’m a thief. Oh, well.

Just wrapped up a huge gig and I am worn out. Even with doing some serious sleeping, I’m worn out. I need a week under a coastal sun, gritty sand between my toes, squawking of gulls overhead, the beating of sun on my body and the steady rhythm of the ocean.

Remind me to tell you some time about the ocean. The ocean was my nanny. Something like that.

I’m more in the middle of the country than I’ve ever been and it’s not bad but it’s still weird. I grew up near a coast then lived the life of a city girl. This midway stuff is just plain odd. But it’s not bad.

Disappointed in the outcome of the gig, btw, but not completely because I’ve come out of the situation with some new ideas and knowledge. Insight. These are key ingredients to a good -and busy- life. I am hoping that things go my way (MY WAY!) so that I can implement some of these ideas and plans and such. I keep having this sensation, an odd feeling that I am on the brink of doing something really incredible (valuable, useful, innovative and groovy, even) - but I must be given the space and time. I want what is not yet mine to have. Damn, that’s annoying.

So the tired girl goes to bed. Sleeps…

Notes on Father’s Day

Father’s Day 2007 - Do you know where your father is? I know where mine is. He’s in the closet. No, no, no - he’s not gay. He’s literally in the closet. My coat closet. Top shelf. A box. A tube of some kind. In that tube is what’s left of my father. Ashes, ashes, all fall down. My dad’s “cremains” are in the closet.

I was supposed to have contacted the VA to have a military service for him - I told his brothers and my cousins I’d do it in the spring. That would have been the spring we just wrapped up. I just couldn’t do it. It’s not that I want to keep him in my closet forever, like some weird “Hunger” fetish. The whole thought process just makes me sad.

Henri & Baby Franque long ago…

So anyway, my dad is in the closet, in a tube, waiting to be placed into a military crypt. I don’t know why I can’t let him go but apparently I just can’t. Even with our weird-ass relationship, he was still my dad. There were plenty of times he did not come through for me, nor act anything like a parent, but with years of therapy and other sorts of help, I got to the place where, when he needed me, I was able to step up and none of that old stuff mattered anymore.

It made me terribly sad, really, the last two years of his life, to see him in the state he was: Tiny, frail, old beyond (way beyond) his years. He had given up on life many years before, so it wasn’t exactly surprising to see actual physical evidence of that giving up, but it was at times alarming.

Oh, and I tried to make him want to live, but you can’t ever really do that. There’s got to be a speck of desire to live in a person, I think. His was gone. I can’t tell you why and I have spent many years analyzing it. My theorizing has always gone back to an American-dream-gone-wrong theory. He set out in his young life with certain expectations and was on his way to achieving them. Somewhere along the line, booze got in the way. Or people with their own hopes and dreams and self-will. When the universe does not align to match one’s expectations, it is best to reconsider those expectations and perhaps attempt to align oneself with the universe. Go with the big power - the Higher Power, if you will.

Oh, and did I tell you about my pathetic attempts to get father’s day cards for the uncles? It was horrible. I’d make it into the aisle and then start crying. Three different times I tried this, and the tears presented themselves each time. I’d say to myself, “Franque, for cryin’ out loud, he’s been dead since November!” and then I’d kind of give myself an internal bitch-slap: Seven months isn’t that long and especially not long at all when the topic is mourning one’s dead dad. Who currently resides in the coat closet.

Do you think that the air is thick with the souls of those who have passed? Like a hot, humid summer night? Another time I’ll tell you about my peculiar religious upbringing, but suffice it to say that I desperately want to believe that Henri and everyone else I’ve loved (and you’ve loved, too) are present somewhere. It’s just that I don’t wan them to end. And selfishly, I don’t want me to end. I want it to go on and on, even though sometimes the pain of thinking it won’t is deep and insomnia-causing. (Also part of the religious upbringing story.)

Maybe by writing about it, I will be moved to put Henri where he’s supposed to be. But he didn’t really care. He said he didn’t care. I had to threaten him with a trip to the taxidermist if he wouldn’t tell me: (a) cremation or (b) no cremation; (c) funeral or (d) no funeral; and (e) memorial service or (f) no memorial service. After laughing to the point of requiring a breathing treatment, he selected a, d and f - one of our more popular packages, being so low-budget and all. (And it’s damn hard to have a memorial service when you’re in a freakin’ box in a CLOSET.)

It’s late. I’m tired. I’m glad Father’s Day is over.

House bill aims to curb indecent TV programs - Yahoo! News

“Lawmakers introduced a bill on Thursday aimed at protecting children from indecent television programs by forcing cable and satellite providers to offer a modified form of la carte programming or make other changes in the way they operate.”

I have a better idea. There’s something already in place to deal with the problem of children watching indecent TV programming. It’s called PARENTING. You heard me: Parenting.

I don’t get why it’s okay to sledgehammer away at the Bill of Rights instead of letting -demanding that- parents take care of their own kids.

It’s a bunch of nonsense!

pfffft!

Britney asks fans for help naming her album - Yahoo! News
“…Lohan — who said in December she had been attending Alcoholics Anonymous for about a year — checked into rehab after she was arrested for drunken driving.

See, here’s the thing: If the group was just called “Alcoholics,” it would be fine for Lindsay to be blathering about it. But it’s not called “Alcoholics,” it’s called Alcoholics Anonymous. ANONYMOUS.

Lohan isn’t doing much for the group that could potentially save her life -if, in fact, she is an alcoholic. And she’s definitely not doing anything in the way of providing hope for people who really are alcoholics! What am I to think? She’s been going for a year but she was just arrested for drunk driving. Clearly it doesn’t work - clearly. (I don’t mean that, I’m being sarcastic.)

These starlets need to keep their traps shut about stuff they obviously know nothing about.

Finally, I think the video here is a perfect example of how a famous person should handle the sober / AA thing.

It’s daylight and I’m writing here - without using a proxy site. This is a miracle! (There’s been a peculiar pattern of not being able to get in during daylight hours and getting in during evening hours, although in recent days, even the nights have proven impossible to get in.)

So we’re looking at an 88 degree day, low humidity and of course the ever-exciting job review. If I may say so, I’m simply adorable today. Oh, and sorry for these goofy posts about my odd FW access troubles - I’ve got to rejoice when I can get in!

Hey, I know where mine is! I’m so overjoyed at being able to access FW on this random attempt - the last few, just an hour, half hour and 15 minutes ago all failed- that I’m posting about it. (Well, DUH…)

Almost done with the self-review. Have to keep rewording things so as not to criticize my boss or the department - it’s about me, not them!

I give myself all gold stars and a pony.

… and a tiara!

…um, nothin’. I’m into using ellipses. Lots and lots of dots! (Here a dot, there a dot, everywhere a dot-dot!)

So about this weird situation with not being able to access this page at my house: I feel like I’m stretching my brains. I mean, ouch.

Here’s what I know: It’s not the router. The ISP says it’s not them (they don’t do any blocking). Deep in my files (wordpress) I found a list of the last 300 (300!) errors. A lot of someone or something trying to access files that don’t exist. A few of them I recognize, and they did exist at one time, but through changing webhosts, upgrading wp a few times, they vanished. I’ve re-added them, simple enough, and they’re not anything that will cause problems by merely existing - but maybe by NOT existing they did.

The puzzle remains, though, why this happens only to ME. Okay, that sounded far too whiny. What I meant was, why does it only happen at my house. Not my office, not my friends’ homes and offices (across the land, sea to shining sea, even!) - just here. I have even connected my computer directly to the cable modem -bypassing the router- to no avail.

There are a couple of fine folks at TechSpot who have been trying to unravel this nonsense, but so far to no avail. OH here is something new: I can access FW via proxy. So does that mean my ISP is a buncha lyin’ bastids and they really DO block web sites? And why on God’s green earth would they block THIS one? I mean, I may be opinionated, but I’ve written about Herb Alpert, for cryin’ out loud. He’s one of the GOOD guys!

Anyway, I remain puzzled and with a brain that is swollen from too much thinking about something I know very little about. It feels like when I was in Germany and just knew -KNEW- that within moments I would completely understand what everyone was saying - it was on the tip of my mind! And that’s how technology stuff feels - I’m on the verge of getting it.

Keep in mind, I take computers apart fearlessly. My computer is a mere shell of its original self, now featuring a ton of new parts. So why can’t I figure this one thing out? Why???

On a brighter -or at least different- note, my annual review is tomorrow. It will be my first at this job and I expect it to go very well. I’m a rock star there! The weird part is my self-review, which I have yet to do. I’ve started it, though, and just feel a bit odd giving myself such a glowing review. “Respect & Community” is the first section and it asks me to touch on such points as:
* Establishes & maintains respectful and cooperative working relationships — Hello! (or Hola! as I now like to say) I am the freakin’ queen of diplomacy and schmoozing. I’m a public relations specialist! I can make Satan feel like he’s welcome at Christmas mass! (Not that he is: Be GONE, you bad creature!)
* Demonstrates respect for individuals in all forms of communication — HOLA! didn’t we just talk about that?
* Demonstrates respect for a positive, diverse work environment and campus community - HOLA! Puhleeze! I am the epitome of diversity, respect and all that is good and bright.

It’s just silly. And honestly? Filling this thing out is *almost* as bad as watching that horrific David Hasselhoff video. Blech.

Off I go to give Ms. Franque a raving review!

Yes, it’s true. I love the good people at TechSpot.com.

While you might have had the impression that I am a lousy poseur of a writer, the truth is that I’ve had some problems actually getting to my page to post! I can access it from any other computer, but let’s face it - I don’t have time for anything but work at work. (Can you imagine the nerve of those people?!)

The problem is not solved yet, but it’s a weird one and I now have two fabulous people on the case. So here’s the plug: If you ever have technology-related woes, visit TechSpot and ask for help! (But for God’s sake, be clear in your posting - I’ve read a few posts that are horrid - no clarity in the subject line and you can FORGET about punctuation in the posts!)

Anyway, I am hoping to have this all fixed soon. YAY! (I so love it when you cheer!)

Oh, shout-out / apology to kitten: Sorry we didn’t go see your lovah, Bill C. at my school this weekend. He sends his best, a wink and a request that you stop wearing blue Gap dresses and berets every time you lunch with him. *smoochies!*

… I feel like a nut.

Sometimes, I don’t.